


Shapes

by Agdistis



Category: Deadpool - All Media Types, Marvel (Comics), X-Force (Comics)
Genre: Emphasis on incoherent, F/M, Gen, Incoherent thoughts about shapeshifting from someone who's losing track of her identity, Poetry without the poetry
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-12-02
Updated: 2020-12-02
Packaged: 2021-03-10 05:01:55
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 484
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/27828664
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Agdistis/pseuds/Agdistis
Summary: He didn't see it as an emptiness.
Relationships: Copycat/Deadpool, Vanessa Carlysle/Wade Wilson
Kudos: 1





	Shapes

**Author's Note:**

> Remember how Vanessa took on the memories and feelings of the people she shapeshifted into?
> 
> (I had to go Experimental(TM) and abstract and I'm not sure it worked but I'm not changing it, so, uh, summary: Vanessa thinks of herself as 'it'; she recalls shapeshifting into two unnamed people and then Wade, idea being that maybe sometimes she likes to see herself through Wade's eyes to deal with her loss of identity.)

Usually,  _ it _ . Just  _ it _ .

Last month, her. Coarse, self-absorbed, corduroy jacket, thick voice, wary, joint pain, lungs full of fire ready to spill out into angry speeches directed at anyone that didn’t show enough deference to her personal idols. Her daughter had told her she wasn’t visiting for Christmas. Her daughter hadn’t visited in seven years. Still, she waited. Each of the seven years was the exception. This time, this time she would come. Silly girl, angry as always, but she would come. She would come. She knew it.

Past week, him. Slow, smell of lavender, unbrushed teeth, fear of strong language, apnea, humming, apnea, humming, apnea, humming. He wanted to leave. He always wanted to leave. He had nowhere to go. He had nothing to do. There was nothing here, and there was nothing there. He would have to be someone else to have something to do, somewhere to go, but he was not someone else, he was the person that hummed, breathed, hummed, breathed, hummed, breathed, sat on his porch, wanted to leave, had nowhere to go.

This morning… _him_ , sometimes too much like _it_ , like trying to dress and wearing nothing at all; too many of the same empty spaces, too much of the same deafening static. Moreover, _it_ no longer knew what _it_ was (or **if** _it_ was) in between being him, her, him, them, the humans, but _he_ , the one with salt-in-wound/sharp-ache skin and hot-stove-top-mind, _he_ implied _it_. Mostly, _it_ did not exist—there were only the _real_ humans in a pretty line of time—but he, _he_ saw _it_ , he lived in relation to _it_ , and _it_ did not enjoy being dragged from the murky depths of nothing, being rebirthed into reality through his eyes and memories. Sometimes, however, he was a _comfortable_ glove to wear, a pair of glasses that brought a blur sharply into focus for long-strained eyes. He didn’t see _it_ as an emptiness, a space in between reality; _he_ saw the woman. He saw a human, a human the color of the sea, rippling white hair like foam on waves. He saw her throwing a pen over a problem in a middle school math textbook she’d stolen from a dollar bin at the bookstore because she wanted to be ready for college, he saw small smiles after quiet jokes she made even though she never thought she was as funny as she was, he saw the way she fought not to wince when anyone’s voice was louder than expected, he saw her swaying to private little tunes in her head when she thought he wasn’t watching her make her third chili dog, he saw the way her eyes lit up looking at flashy knee-high leather boots, he saw her feeding stray cats and giggling in wonder when they rolled in her lap.

Right now,  _ it _ , trying to fill out the shape of  _ her _ .


End file.
